Worst Kept Secret
by Baba-sama
Summary: Irate sisters, apocalyptic crushes, and high school. As if growing up wasn’t hard enough already. Season 1, Pacey/Joey.


**AN:** Oh. My. God. This was _so_ much fun to write. And it's super long, too, which is a plus. Man, I hope this was as much fun to read for you guys as it was for me to write it. And, as always, tell me if there's anything wrong with it. And now off I go to work on _Watch Your Step_!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Dawson's Creek_. Insert witty line here.

**Summary:** Irate sisters, apocalyptic crushes, and high school. As if growing up wasn't hard enough already. Season 1, Pacey x Joey.

**Worst Kept Secret**

_Chapter 1_

"Pacey Witter, you are a _dead man_."

Now, those words? They're not unfamiliar altogether. Especially not to me, Joey Potter, sworn archenemy of aforementioned boy. I mean, it's not like I don't threaten him with promises of bodily harm just every other hour. Oh no, those words are as common to me as "good morning" and "hello" might be to anyone.

No, what's unfamiliar about those words is the fact that there's an entirely new reason behind them.

Maybe I should rewind a bit and explain my situation.

You know when you're little and you think everyone of your age and of the opposite gender has cooties? Well, with me, it's sort of like I haven't grown out of that stage.

Except, well, I like to think that I've matured beyond squealing in disgust whenever a boy comes near me. Except where Pacey is concerned. Although with him, it's pretty much degenerated into me beating him up, which he takes surprisingly well considering Dawson used to tear up if I just whacked him on the arm. Then again, I never beat Dawson up on a regular basis, so maybe Pacey's gotten used to it...or he doesn't want to cry in front of me.

But I digress.

My point is that while I don't exactly dislike the male population, I don't really desire any further contact with them either. Unlike other girls my age, I don't go out of my way to meet "cute" guys. In fact, I don't even differentiate between the "cute" guys and the ones who aren't. I'm just...not that kind of girl.

And up until last night, I was still that girl. But now I'm not, and it's all the fault of one Mr. Pacey Witter.

You might say, 'Well, that's not the end of the world. All girls eventually start liking boys. Either that or they're lesbians.'

Okay. Well, first, I would punch you, for reasons that include saying something that sounds like something Pacey would say. And then I would agree, albeit reluctantly. It's something inevitable, like death and taxes. And normally, as I frequently do with all things new and unfamiliar, I'd vehemently deny it and do my best to ignore it, which has surprisingly worked fairly well for me these past few years. Except this is something completely unavoidable - it's _Pacey_. Why is this so potentially disastrous? Let me give you the back story.

For as long as I've known Pacey (which is, sadly, pretty much practically my whole life), we've never really liked each other. This animosity we have towards each other probably stems from the fact that our best friend is the same person - Dawson Leery. The Golden Boy with the perfect family. You see, Pacey and I...well, we have less than stellar home lives, and you'd think that we'd be sympathetic to each other's problems, but no.

The trouble is, we both found Dawson before we found each other. And by the time we did, Dawson had already become our security blanket, our safe haven to run to when things weren't going well at home. Dawson had such a perfect life that, well, I guess we couldn't help being drawn to it. You know, in the hopes that it would rub off on us.

And you know how little kids are often really possessive about their toys? Well, Pacey and I learned to share (and not without a large amount of resistance on both sides), but the one thing we could never really share was Dawson. Even now, it just seems like we haven't grown out of it.

And Pacey? He just hasn't seemed to grow at all. He's still about as mentally mature as he was when he was 7 years old and dipping one of my pigtails in blue paint. Sure, he may have shot up like a weed over the summer, and finally grown into those big hands and feet Dawson and I have teased him mercilessly about for the past few years...actually, that probably isn't the best train of thought to get into.

Anyway, if you asked me to describe Pacey in a single word, one comes to mind without hesitation - jackass. I'll admit it, he's smart (and if you tell anyone that I said that, I'll have to kill you) - otherwise he wouldn't be able to match wits with the best of us (namely me) - but sometimes his logic is just so irrevocably...well, Pacey. And by "Pacey", I mean totally and completely idiotic, but with vague roots in logic.

Case in point? A few weeks ago, after yet another sleepover at the Leery household, Pacey woke up early and decided he wanted eggs sunny side up. Mrs. Leery had apparently cleaned the kitchen again last night, so Pacey couldn't find any pans to fry the eggs in. Instead, he went for the next best thing - the microwave. It cooks things, right? He grabbed a plate, cracked a few eggs into it, and then stuck it in.

Fast forward this two minutes later, and you find me, Dawson, and Mr. and Mrs. Leery groggily waking up, roused by something that suspiciously sounded like a mini-explosion. All four of us trudged downstairs to find Pacey sitting on the kitchen floor with the microwave in front of him, frantically scraping out bits of egg and, once he caught sight of us, apologizing profusely to Mr. and Mrs. Leery.

Granted, morning hunger may have had a hand in this momentary lapse in common sense, but still. I am by no definition a morning person and I still would have enough sense to just give up and try something simpler, like toasting pop-tarts.

And that's the story. To sum it all up - Pacey and I? Mortal enemies. And this crush I have on him? A sign of the apocalypse. I'm waiting for the hell mouth to appear, or the sun to explode, or something equally catastrophic to happen. It's only a matter of time, really.

...Okay, I know I sound very much melodramatic, but I think it's fairly justified. It's very confusing to one day yell at someone you've despised your whole life only to want to jump them the next day. It's a very awkward transition, to say the least.

And I know without a doubt that if Pacey ever managed to find out this stupid out-of-the-blue hormonal attraction, he'd never let me live it down. Right now he's discovering what every other male his age is discovering - that girls are, well, _girls_. As in feminine creatures with...parts...that they don't have, and that most guys enjoy looking at said parts any way they can.

He'd probably hound me every second of the day, leering at me and you know, this is another train of thought that I really shouldn't be getting into because the worst thing about having a crush on your mortal enemy is that anything he does, even things designed specifically to piss you off, ends up in other incredibly embarrassing but inescapable reactions.

It would be so easy to chalk this up as one of Pacey's more detailed evil plans to kill me, but I'm not that deluded. He's not _that_ diabolical, and this really isn't his fault or mine, which really leaves me frustrated because I can't do anything about it. I'm painted into a corner. My usual method of dealing with my problems won't do - I can't head over to Dawson's and brood because there's a ninety-nine percent chance Pacey will be there. And if he _is_ there, I can't turn to one of my other methods of dealing - beating him up - because even though I usually don't need a valid reason to inflict bodily harm on him, I can't take the risk of letting something slip if it turns into one of our infamous wrestling matches. Proximity? Not a good thing right now.

And my third method of dealing - talking to Dawson - is decidedly _not_ an option. First of all, he's a guy. More thoughtful than most, but still a guy. I may be tomboy-ish, but I know enough to know that you just don't talk to guys about who you have a crush on. Not even if he's your best friend. And _especially _not if said crush is the _other_ best friend of that male best friend. And second of all, I know guys have some kind of brotherly solidarity thing - the same thing that happens with females - so Dawson might give Pacey hints without knowing it or accidently let it slip, and I can't let that happen. And besides, I don't think Dawson would believe, me, anyway, and even if he did I _really_ don't need him smirking at me whenever Pacey's around. Dawson's worse at keeping secrets than I am.

But I obviously have to develop _some_ sort of plan of action. This is the first time I've ever avoided heading over to Dawson's for any reason other than being sick or Bessie and Bodie needing me. And today, Bessie is angrier than I've ever seen her - all thanks to pregnancy hormones. I'd love to be anywhere but here right now, especially while I don't have any chores or summer assignments looming over my head like Dawson and Pacey do. Sometimes being confined to the house has its benefits.

"JOEY!"

Uh-oh. Bessie's on the rampage again.

"JOEY!" I can hear her waddling in my direction. She doesn't sound too happy, either.

"I need you to go down to the store and buy me ice cream." I sigh, reluctantly getting off my couch/bed. I really need to get my own room. Having to sleep in the living room makes it way too easy for her to find me, and I can't even do the normal teenager thing and slam the door to shut out her yelling.

"What flavor?" She pauses, looking down at her protruding stomach as if the baby can telepathically tell her what flavor of ice cream he or she is currently craving. I'd laugh, but Bessie's close enough that I'd rather not risk it. Bodie laughed at her the last time she did something like this, and if I shift a bit to the right I can see the dent in the wall from the pot she threw at him in response.

"Chocolate. And get sprinkles!" I grab the money from her hand and slip on a pair of sneakers. Thank God I'm wearing shorts, because as soon as I step outside the heat - or the humidity, I should say - makes me feel distinctly like I'm in an oven. I can already feel myself sweating, but if it's a choice between the heat outside and the heat of Bessie's temper, I'll take the heat outside any day. At least the heat doesn't verbally abuse anyone within a 10-foot radius.

It's quiet out, and I don't see too many people out and about like me. Not that I blame them - they all have functional air-conditioners and non-pregnant females at home. Well, to be fair, our air conditioner occasionally works, and Bessie's a great big sister when she's not telling me to get her something or "suffer her wrath".

I guess I should savor this quiet walk I'm having now, because there probably won't be too many opportunities for peace and quiet once the baby's born.

And for that matter, once the baby's born, I also probably won't be able to head over to Dawson's as often, so maybe I should just bite the bullet and go over anyway. Get away while I still can.

I slowly walk around a corner, weighing the pros and cons. Well, if I do go, Pacey might find out about my overly-friendly feelings about him, which has already been established as a bad thing. On the other hand, if I don't go, I'll be stuck catering to the every whim of Bessie, who at times has woken up in the middle of the night and demanded that either me or Bodie go find something star-shaped and green to eat, which is one of her more "normal" (and I use the term loosely) requests.

I'm still mulling over which situation is worse, until finally I'm in front of the corner store. It doesn't look like anyone else is in there, and Mr. Bradley looks half-asleep over there at the cash register. I push the door open and nod at him, then head over to the frozen foods section. The cold air from the freezer feels nice, and right now death by frostbite doesn't seem too bad an idea.

I roll my eyes and grab one of the chocolate ice cream boxes, then jog over to one of the other aisles and grab some sprinkles. I drop the two items in front of the register, where Mr. Bradley finally snaps out of his heat-induced stupor long enough to ring up my purchases and hand me my change. I frown when I realize I'm going to have to run home if I want the ice cream to still be ice cream when I get home.

I take a glance at the store clock before I head back outside. It's about 10 past 3 in the afternoon, meaning after I finish this dessert run I still have a good 7 or 8 hours before a respectable sleeping hour. And I'm still no closer to deciding whether or not I should brave a trip to Dawson's.

"Potter! Long time no see! And the day was going so well, too." Pacey jogs up to me and grins that stupid grin of his that makes me want to both punch him and kiss him.

I scowl. After 15 years it's become practically involuntary. "Looks like it's about to get better."

He frowns, confused, until I knee him in the groin. Then he grimaces, and I almost feel guilty. Almost. But I can see the ice cream starting to melt already; a chocolate pool is starting to form at the bottom of the plastic bag the ice cream is in. I don't have time for our patented banter right now, and truth be told, I can't stop once I get a fight going with him. It's instinct.

"Low blow, Joey," he wheezes, "Violent much?"

"Sorry, Pacey," I say in that way that says I'm not actually sorry, "But Bessie sent me out to get her ice cream, and if I don't get it back to her soon I may not live to see tomorrow."

"You know, Joey, that _really_ isn't convincing me to let you go." I glare at him, and he grins. Stupid Pacey and stupid hormones.

"What do you want, Pacey?" I scowl, and his grin only grows bigger. I swear, he gets off on annoying me. Wait. Gross. I don't want to think about Pacey getting off on _anything_, much less anything remotely related to me.

"Well, it's not so much a _want_ as it is a question. And it's not from_me_, it's from Dawson." I roll my eyes at him and can almost feel my mind sigh in relief - how that's possible is beyond me - at the chance to think about something else.

"What?" Pacey shrugs, and suddenly he's got this nonchalant air about him, which usually doesn't spell good news for me.

"Oh, you know, nothing too big. Just this movie he's making, you heard of it? Well anyway, his female lead didn't show up, and he wanted to know if you've seen her. Not that this little movie is monumentally important to him or anything. So. You seen her around, by any chance?"

Oh…_crap_. I forgot. And Dawson must've told me a million times after our last day in junior high about this amateur film contest. And he must've called me a million times last week - which didn't amuse Bessie all that much, mind you - reminding me to come over today to start filming. I can't _believe_ I forgot about it. And leave it to Pacey to lay on the guilt.

Gross, something warm just landed on my foot. The ice cream!

"Look, tell Dawson I'll be over right away, okay? I've really got to get this to Bessie."

"Ay ay, captain!" He salutes me, and I take off running, rolling my eyes. That went well. No embarrassing reactions – well, none that Pacey could see - and the regular banter, with a little bit of violence on my part. Perfect! I can handle this.

…

Who am I kidding? Every time he opened his mouth I wanted to do something. Punch him, yes, but that's probably the only acceptable reaction that went through my mind. The others…not so much.

Well, maybe I won't have to worry _too_ much. Bessie's going to _kill_ me for taking so long to get some ice cream and sprinkles.


End file.
